Here's the story
by no white horse for me
Summary: "He was her only lifeline; he was what kept her here" One-sided Dramione. When Draco realizes his feelings change for a certain muggle-born. Romione implied


**Heyy! Okay, so this is completely out of character for me, because I can't stand dramione, but this is one sided, and I'm actually very proud of it! I wrote this in about an hour, and I think it's okay. It was fun to write, and it's very out of character and probably not what Draco really thinks of her, but ah well. Enjoy!  
>HPloveofmylife<strong>

Here's the story then:

Hermione and Ron were in love but had no idea. Harry tried his hardest to get them together. Draco sat on the sidelines and pointed and laughed.

You don't rewrite the story, you don't change the script, you don't fuck with the ending. You just don't. No matter how much you want to.

Draco wasn't entirely sure when it all changed – when his...feelings changed. She was a mudblood, common and worthless, but along the way, she changed. She got a lot prettier, she got a lot wittier, she didn't take bullshit from anyone. But her feelings for him still stayed the same. She still hated him, hated every single hair on his head, hated him right down to the last, insignificant blemish on his pale skin.

And at first, he hated her right back. He loathed her because of that stupid mop of brown curls she couldn't seem to tame, her fiery brown eyes. He hated her because she was the smartest witch in their grade, because she thought she knew everything. He hated her because she was a mudblood, common, useless, unneeded. He was a Slytherin. She was a Gryffindor. There's a difference. A big difference, actually. He was cunning and sleazy, but he was also weak, a coward when faced with awful things. She was smart and loyal and brave. She faced her fears head on and always came out winning.

It might have been that time before Voldemort's defeat that he realized. When she was lying on the floor of his home, screaming blue bloody murder as his own aunt tortured her, used curses on her to get information. He had listened to her from behind his mother, and tears had sprung into his eyes. And he could hear _him_, the blood-traitor, shouting her name and banging his fists on the cellar downstairs. But the only sound that hurt him was the sound of her tears, the sound of her screams as she lied to his aunt and was faced with the Cruciatius curse.

Draco had chanced a look around his mother and had almost broken down right then and there. Aunt Bella had just screamed, "Crucio!" And Hermione's back had arched, tears had flowed freely from her eyes, her mouth had opened but no sound would come. "Come, my pet, dance for us. Show Aunt Bella what you've got!" Bellatrix taunted, screeching with laughter as Hermione gasped for breath. Draco could see the determination in her dark brown eyes – she wouldn't give in, she wouldn't give up without a fight. When Aunt Bella had realized she wasn't going to get any answers, she had let Hermione go. Hermione had dropped to the floor and curled in on herself, hiding away from the people that surrounded her.

And then, Draco watched as Hermione pressed her ear against the floor, right above the cellar, and he realized; she was listening for him. She was listening for Ron's voice, his voice to make her strong, to keep her from wilting like a flower and giving into the pain that had riddled her body. He was her only lifeline; he was what kept her here, kept her clutching life with white fingers. It was then that it hit Draco; he wanted to be her lifeline. He wanted her to look at him out of the corner of her eye and see him, and to know that he was there to save her, to know that he was the only thing that could keep her holding on.

But he wasn't. Ronald Weasley was. And Draco knew it. He knew it then, at Malfoy Manner, and he knows it now, as he watches Hermione give her eldest daughter a kiss, preparing for Hogwarts Express. Ron has an arm around Hermione and an arm around a bratty-looking son with bright red hair and dark brown eyes. Just like his mother. Draco turns his attention back to his own son, Scorpius, wishes him luck at school, pats his cheek, and lets him say goodbye to his mother.

But he's still watching her – he's always watching her. She's happy with her life, she loves Ron to no end, and he can see it in the way she looks at him, and the way he looks at her. And, so help me, Draco Malfoy is jealous of Ronald Weasley.

Here's the story now:

Ron and Hermione are married and deeply in love. They have two children named Rosie and Hugo. Draco Malfoy is married with a son, Scorpius. And Draco hates his life.

You don't fuck with the ending, you don't rewrite the script. You don't edit it so it fits the way you like it. You play along and act with what's been written for you.

Draco wishes it had been written differently. But he's never had the courage to tell her. Because, with an ending like this, it's not just the way people Up There write it. It's the way you play the game.

It's your own actions that determine the way you end up. And Draco and Hermione could have been happy together, had Draco been brave enough. But he wasn't. And now, he's stuck in a lonely life without the woman he loves.

And all because he was a scared, weak coward. Well done, Draco. Well done.


End file.
